


Medal Dreams

by ronandhermy



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Olympics, F/M, Gen, Olympics, going for the gold, patriotic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 08:22:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9647909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronandhermy/pseuds/ronandhermy
Summary: An Olympic AU. When Gaby Teller, German gymnast, and Illya Kuryakin, a Russian judokan, meet for the first time it is hardly love at first sight. But with Olympic medals on the line, things are bound to change.And Solo makes an appearance as an American fencer.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am not an expert in any of the sports listed so please forgive me for any errors.

They meet for the first time when Illya is recuperating from surgery on his Achilles. He’s not the first Russian Gaby’s met, not even the first Russian Olympian, but he is the first one who is roughly the size of a giant. He looks as if he was kept in an underground bunker and fed Stalin approved supplements before being released into the wild. The secret Russian solution to Captain America. 

They meet at the gym because that is roughly where Gaby spends at least fifty percent of her time having sold a portion of her soul to gymnastics. The other fifty percent goes towards ballet and helping her foster father in the garage. She was running late and it would be that moment that she ran into the Red Peril. 

They both fell to the floor in a mixture of limbs and curses in both languages before they switched to English. 

“What is your problem?” Gaby asked tersely, not actually expecting a response as she extracted herself from underneath the Russian.

“I am not the one who is too blind to see a person right in front of them,” came the terse reply as the blond man pushed away from her. 

As far as first meetings go it wasn’t the best. 

~~~~~

She learns who he is from a teammate who is amazed that she’s alive after tangling with the Judo star of the Russian team. She replies that he is lucky to have survived tangling with her. Her teammate laughs but she’s partially serious. Growing up in a garage taught Gaby early on how to defend herself and how to drop a larger opponent. If she wasn’t focused on the Olympics and ballet and her foster father’s health she would probably learn judo just to beat his ass on his own terf. 

~~~~~~

He finds himself watching her while he does strengthening exercises. She is small, but all gymnasts are small. Yet her personality makes her seem so much larger then how she first appears. 

Her movements are graceful as she throws her body into the air, twisting an impossible amount of times before landing firmly on the mat. She moves like a ballet dancer, which she is, and he only knows that because one of her teammates told him. It is easy to see her strength when she runs forward, presses off with her hands, and achieves such a height with her flips he could walk under her, no problem. But it is her sheer grace of movement that transforms her routines. 

He is a Russian, he knows his gymnastics. If he were a judge he would give her gold. Every time. 

~~~~

Even though his ankle is now fully healed he finds an excuse to stay in Germany by saying he wants to train with their national team for a time. 

He finally works up the courage to talk to her as she descends from the rope she was using for strengthening exercises. She stops her descent at Illya’s eye level and he finds himself nearly forgetting to ask, “Would you like to get a coffee? With me?” because staring into her brown eyes is a bit like staring into the sun. 

She contemplates him for what feels like eternity before cocking her head to the side and says, “ How about a drink instead.” 

He agrees and she drops down the rest of the rope until she’s standing on the mat. 

“Pick me up at 8. Don’t be late.” And then she saunters off like she knows he’ll be there with bells on. 

He will be, but still. 

~~~~

It’s not just a drink. She makes them go dancing. Illya normally hates to dance. He dislikes places that are crowded and noisy and flash odd colored lights. He has spent much of his life controlling himself, focusing on his sport and his school work to repress any violent urges, but there are just certain scenarios he is supposed to avoid. Like situations where he will feel uncomfortable. Like dancing.

But Gaby is pressed up against him and he forgets all about his hatred of such places as he feels her movements. She seduces him without even trying. A sway of her hips, the arc of her wrist, and he is gone, following her siren's call. 

At the end of the night when he is walking her back to her place they stop for a moment under a lamppost. There is a river flowing somewhere nearby and it feels as if there is no one else in the whole world but them.

“If you do not kiss me,” she tells him, bathed in soft glow of the street light, “I will be very put out.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” he replies, leaning down to press his mouth to hers. 

It started out as a brief, gentle kiss. A romantic kiss to fit the scene and the mood. Except, the kiss kept going. Soon his hands were in her hair and on her back and her hands were pulling his head down to keep him in place. It quickly transforms from quick and romantic to heady and passion filled. He cannot stop kissing her and if anyone had seen them on the streets they would have thought he was a soldier about to head out on tour and who was kissing his woman goodbye such was the nature of their kiss.

When they finally do part, her lips are swollen and he is already vowing to himself that before the year is out Gaby Teller will be his girlfriend.

It takes a month.

~~~~~~~

They are both dedicated to their sports and it is an Olympic year but they still find ways to spend time together. They go running together, and make sure they have dinner together at least once a week, and there are the nights when Gaby stays over.

Those are Illya’s favorites. Sometimes he’ll wake up and Gaby will already have gotten up and fixed a pot of coffee. Illya would walk into his living room to see Gaby sprawled out on his futon couch, reading his morning paper, clad only in his unbuttoned dress shirt from the night before. 

Such a sight is worthy of worship and he has no problem going down on his knees to offer his supplication between her thighs. 

~~~~

This will most likely be Gaby’s last Olympics and she wants to make it count. Illya has a firm belief in treating each competition like it is his last, which is probably why he does so well. 

He has to return to Russia for a time before the games and the only thing he regrets is that he won’t see Gaby again until they're in the Olympic village. 

“Don’t worry about me,” she tells him, “We’ll both be so busy the time will pass before we know it.”

“I will still miss you,” he tells her, gathering her into his arms.

They don’t say I love you, but they don’t have to.

~~~~~

When the German team arrives they learn that there are some issues with the Olympic village. Because of course there are. Gaby learns that there was a mix up with the rooms and teams and now some of the Russian team is being made to room with competitors from other countries. Thankfully, the Germans only have to deal with some water damage and a potential nest of some sort in their rooms.

Gaby and her teammates look at each other after unpacking, before laughing and going on a hunt for the Olympic condoms. Out of their gymnastics team only about one or two of them will actually make use of them but Gaby wants them nonetheless. What’s the point of being an Olympian if you can’t enjoy some of the myths and perks. 

She figures she can find Illya after the opening ceremony that night. Maybe he’ll want to use an Olympic condom just so they can say they did. 

~~~~~

He is in hell. That is all Illya can think when he is confronted by the American fencer that is apparently his roommate. 

“Napoleon Solo. Nice to meet you,” the dark haired man says, extending his hand. 

Illya does not take it. 

“What kind of name is Napoleon?” Illya asks, putting his clothes away. It’s not Solo’s fault that Illya’s in a bad mood. He’s been that way since he said goodbye to Gaby at the airport over a month ago. 

“Really? That’s what you want to know? Not about my chances to win a gold medal or how many Olympic condoms I plan to go through,” Solo responds, laying out on his bed in a picture of relaxation. 

“No,” Illya replies. 

“Well I plan to use as many of those condoms as I can provided they are quality. Don’t want any rips or tears. The world is not ready for anymore Solos.” The dark haired man continues to chatter without any assistance from Illya. This is the blond man’s version of hell, he’s sure of it. “What about you? Plan on using your condoms? Because if you’re not I could take them off your hands.” 

Illya ignores him and leaves the room, heading toward the gym. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``

When he sees her at the Opening Ceramony it’s like he can breath again. She dressed in her country's colors, her hair in a high ponytail with cheerful ribbons, and she is a vision as she runs over to him calling his name.

She gives a little leap when she’s about a foot from him and then she’s in his arms. He breathes her in, holding her tight, as he tries to control the whirl of emotions inside of himself. He never wants to let her go again. What was he thinking when he had left her? Left his joy? What kind of idiot did that to himself? 

It’s getting late but Illya is reluctant to let her go so soon after they’ve been reunited. 

“I have a roommate. An American,” Illya tells her, “but if you don’t mind, would you like to come up to my room?”

She agrees, curious about the roommate as well as wanting to spend time with her boyfriend. When they get back to Illya’s room it is mercifully empty and they lay on the bed together. They are fully clothed and will stay so. Gaby has podium training in the morning and Illya has his day of poking and prodding and weigh in. 

Still, it is nice to just hold each other for a time, neither of them having to speak. 

She leaves before his roommate returns and as he stares up into the dark he makes a promise to himself. If he wins the gold medal he will ask Gaby to marry him within the year. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

She manages to qualify for floor and beam final and she still shaking a little bit. Floor, yes, but beam had been an unexpected gift. Her teammates had nearly screamed themselves hoarse when they saw the rankings. A German in two individual finals at the Olympics? It had been years since that had happened.

He makes it through the preliminary rounds with ease, throwing his opponents to the floor like they are dolls stuffed with straw and not highly athletic men. When he gets the text from Gaby about her advancement he can’t stop grinning. His woman was going to win. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Illya has made it to the gold medal match and it feels like he’s on fire with all the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He knows Gaby is in the crowd, knows his mother is watching this back home in Smolensk, probably with half the neighborhood block huddled around Mrs. Ivanivich’s television. He accepts that knowledge and then puts it aside. This is about the match and nothing else. Nothing else exists. 

His opponent is Brazilian and very, very good. It’s a good match. The best kind really, where you’re forced to rely on every ounce of training and force of will in order to succeed. Neither of them are holding back and it is with pure joy that Illya does battle with such a worthy foe.

In the end, he wins by one point and he has never felt so satisfied with his performance in his life. He can’t help himself. After he receives his country’s flag instead of doing a victory lap he runs over to the stands where Gaby is already leaning down. She is so proud. Of him. She is proud of him and he feels both shaky and invincible when she looks at him like he can do anything.

So he kisses her. Before the whole world. And it’s like winning all over again. 

~~~~~

That night they hit the town in celebration. They don’t go to a dance club or any one of the teaming bars full of girls wanting to feel the hands of an Olympic gold medalist. Instead, they find a little hole in the wall place that only has about five things on the menu where they have to sit extremely close to fit at their table. Not that either of them mind. 

That night Illya has Gaby wear his Russian medal ceremony sweat jacket and his gold medal while she rides him. He can tell she wants to make some clever comment but refrains. This is his night after all, he deserves something nice. And if he wants to watch his girlfriend have an orgasm while draped in his team colors and medal of conquest then that is what he’ll get.

He nearly blacks out when he comes. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day Illya is preparing to leave the room to watch Gaby and her teammates compete in the team final. They don’t expect to win, Gaby had told him, but they are going to try anyway because you never know when a better team will have a worse day. 

Solo stumbles in, looking both fresh and haggard in a way that only he can pull off.

“I have got to admit Peril, I did not think you had it in you,” the American’s praise sounds a bit like an insult but Illya can’t figure out why.

“What is that supposed to mean?” came the near defensive reply.

“Your girlfriend, and you as well I might add, are really quiet loud. It’s a good thing no one else understand Russian or German on this floor or else your little kitten might be terribly embarrassed.” 

Illya can feel himself turning red but he can’t stop it. Of course his roommate would be the one American who actually possessed language skills.

“Not a word,” Illya warns.

“Oh I have several words and half of them are of the “you old dog, you’ve been holding out on me” variety,” Solo replied. He is smirking now. 

“I have held nothing back. We are not friends,” Illya insists.

“No, that’s true. But you are my roommate for the next week or so, and I just want to let you know that the only time I’ll be spending the night here is the night before the gold medal bout. Individual of course, we have no hope of a team medal this year,” Solo says as he changes from his sweats to another pair of slightly nicer sweats, “So consider this my gift to you on winning that very nice gold medal.”

“And where will you sleep?” Illya asks despite himself.

Solo just throws him a look, “Do you really want to know?”

Illya thinks about it for all of three seconds. “No.” 

~~~~~~~

The day of beam final she throws up she’s so nervous but by the time she enters the arena she is calmed and centered. She cannot think about the other competitors, only about herself. About her performance. 

Her beam routine is sixth in the line up and she spends most of the time trying to keep her muscles from cooling down. When it is her time she takes a deep breath and does her back handspring mount onto the beam. Her routine is not filled as with as many jumps and leaps as the Americans but she capitalizes on her ballet training by using all of the turns in the code of points. This is the white swan, dancing on the thin line between good and evil. 

Her mind is blessedly blank as she dismounts, twisting in air and managing to stick her landing despite over rotating. Now all she can do is wait for the scores to see if she has finally captured that elusive prize: an Olympic medal.

Time seems to drag on and she finds herself scanning the crowd, and she finds Illya with what looks like half the Russian team. Their eyes lock and he gives her a small nod. He knows. He knows what it's like.

The scores are finally posted and she bursts into ugly happy tears. She’s won bronze. 

~~~~~~~

After the ceremonies and the interviews and the well wishers Gaby can’t wait to find Illya. He knows all about the sacrifices, the pain, and the burning to desire to be on the podium. And she made it. She finally made it. 

He is waiting for her and he catches her as she jumps into his arms and they are talking in a mixture of German, Russian and English in between kisses. They forget about the cameras capturing some of their celebration.

They go back to Illya’s room and his roommate is out, having made it to the next round in fencing. Apparently he is actually rather good at it. 

Gaby rides Illya with her bronze medal swinging between her breasts. It’s a beautiful sight and at the end of it Illya can’t help but quip, “Now that is how a champion fucks.” 

It’s worth it to hear Gaby giggle snort into his neck. 

~~~~~~~~~~`

Floor final is last because of course it always is. She admits to being a little intimidated by the Americans. Their sheer power alone is enough to make any competitor think twice about taking them on. Illya brushes aside her worries.

“So what, they have power. Do they have your ballet? Your grace? I don’t think so.”

In the arena her mind becomes focused on the competition. She is last in the line up and she spends nearly the entire time keeping her muscles warmed and giving herself personalized pep-talks. She had talked to her foster father last night and she would deny to her dying day that she had teared up when he had told her how proud of her he was. How proud the whole garage was of her. The boys all wanted to buy her a round of drinks on behalf of Germany.

When it is her turn, finally, she reminds herself that she has earned this. She is not an American teenager, but a German woman who has danced before royalty and earned pride for her country. This is not a floor routine of cheer, but of beauty. This is the black swan. 

When the music starts she disappears into her own head and her body moves like this is the last time she will move on this earth. She is graceful, full of power, technically as close to perfection as possible. Her muscles strain as she leaps into the splits, throwing her head back, her red and black leotard catching the lights of the camera. This is the best she has ever been and the whole world knows it. The whole world is watching.

When it ends she feels like a Prima Donna who has just danced her swan song to perfection. And, in a way, that is what she had done. 

As she waits for the scores to come up she scans the crowd and finds Illya watching her. She doesn’t care if it makes her look like a dork, she waves to him. 

Then the scores appear and Gaby is on her knees while the arena erupts with noise.

She won gold. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``

She still can’t believe it hours later, even with the coveted medal around her neck. The interviews are going well until someone decides to ignore the fact that this is a sports event. The sports event.

“Ms. Teller, what can you tell us about your relationship with Illya Kuryakin, the Russian gold medalist?” 

“What?” she asks, taken aback, “What does that have to do with my floor routine?”

“If you could just answer the question Ms. Teller.”

“No,” Gaby says, firmly, “This is an interview about gymnastics and about the Olympics. This is not an interview about my personal life. If that is where this conference is going I think we are done as you have all clearly run out of sports related questions to ask.” 

The questions return to relevant topics after that. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Illya is eating her out with she wears her gold medal and his Russian warm up jacket when Solo decides to show up. 

There is a lot of yelling and things get thrown but Solo doesn’t leave.

“This is the last place they’ll think to look.”

“Who?” Illya asks shoving himself into his pants and providing a shield as Gaby throws on her clothes. 

“The less you know, the better,” was the less than helpful response. Solo finally got a look at Gaby and proceeded to flirt, “So you're the gymnast who's got everyone talking. Congrats on your medal by the way. Quite a coup there. If you ever want to demonstrate any of your moves I am more than willing to…”

“I am going to kill you,” Illya interruptes the American, murder clearly on his mind.

“Illya, no,” Gaby cautioned, stepping in front of her Russian giant to make sure he didn’t make good on his promise and kill the brash American. She can feels Illya trembling under hands and she knows from experience how much he is fighting to keep control.

“Come on, we’ll go to my room,” she says, pulling her boyfriend behind her. He goes with her willingly but not before sending a death glare full of malicious promises to Solo.

The American just waved and tossed out a casual, “Toodles.”

Roommate hell. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

They’re romance is apparently in all of the papers. It is Gertie, Gaby’s roommate, who drops that information bomb.

Why people care about who she is seeing Gaby will never know, but apparently two gold medalists from different countries in love makes for good press. The American press doesn’t really care. They do one short piece on them, far more interested in the fact that Illya has a PhD in quantum mechanics and that Gaby is also a first soloist for the Berlin Ballet Academy.

The other papers, papers that are European, are a mix bag. Some are neutral, just trying to find a human interest story to push more newsprint, but others take a side. There are those that support Gaby and Illya as a star crossed romance considering the fraught history between Germany and Russia. Others are not as kind. One paper even calls Gaby a traitor for letting a brutal Russian between her legs.

She ignores them all. The only reason they’re of any interest now is because they won and because this is the Olympics. Within two weeks of the games wrapping up no one will care about them or even remember their names. 

Illya does not have Gaby’s ce la vie attitude about the whole press issue. He is furious at the papers who insult Gaby and make it seem like she is trapped in a relationship with a horrific Russian. He wants to sue or burn the paper down for their insults. He goes to gym and spars with any takers in a no holds barred bout for three hours in order to calm down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Gaby comes by Illya’s room later that day she is surprised to see him and the American playing a game of chess. Apparently it’s a rather good game because Illya has his furrowed frown on and the American looks like a still painting. It feels strangely intimate.

“Am I interrupting?” Gaby asks, sliding over to stand beside Illya, her left hand reaching to brush some hair away from his face. 

“Only the inevitable,” Solo replies. 

“Your loss,” Illya intones, “Check.”

“What?” Solo asks, actually surprised. After examining the board for a moment he lets out a “Damn” before moving his rook.

“How long have you two been playing,” Gaby asks, already knowing the answer is going to surprise her.

“Three hours,” Illya mutters, shifting his queen, before grinning and finally looking up, “Checkmate.” 

“Were you waiting for your girlfriend to show up so that you could impress her by beating me?” Solo asks, tipping his king over on the board.

“What is impressive about beating an American?” Illya asks, putting the chess pieces back into their box. 

“Ouch. Careful there Peril, that almost sounded like an insult,” Solo replied.

“If you two lovebirds are finished,” Gaby intones, “Illya, you promised to come to beach with me. I need someone to rub sunscreen on my back.”

The Russian is on his feet faster than a track runner hearing the starting pistol. 

“No time for a rematch Solo,” Illya says, gathering his keys, “Got to go.”

“Bye Solo,” Gaby calls out over her shoulder, nearly giggling as Illya pushes her gently forward. It’s not everyday he gets to see her in a bikini after all. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

They watch Solo’s individual medal bout and even Illya admits to being grudgingly impressed by the American’s moves. He is up against the top ranked fencer, a South Korean, and it is a sight to see two skilled individual pretend to try to kill each other for fun.

Illya is quite content to sit in the stands, his arm around Gaby, as she makes both snarky and informative comments throughout the match. He is happy and he can’t help but picture them years in the future, sitting at one of their children’s sports games, with Gaby yelling at the ref to open up his damn eyes. It’s a vision he’ll secretly treasure. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Solo wins his gold medal in a huge upset and Gaby and Illya are on their feet cheering for him. It almost feels like the American is a friend in a way.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

They part at the airport, each heading to their respective countries to fulfill their Olympic obligations. There are heads of state to meet, flowers to accept and morning talk shows to go on. It is annoying to nth degree but Illya promises to come visit her in Germany as soon as he is able. Gaby says nothing, just holds him tighter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

It’s been two months and they are walking down the same road they walked on their first date. It’s dark and he pulls her under that same streetlamp where they first kissed. He can already hear Solo accusing him of going soft and he tells the inner voice in his head that sounds like that annoying American to fuck off.

He has a speech planned. Even asked Solo for advice on it which was one of the worst decisions of his life to date. But even though he had spent hours crafting those words for just this moment all he can blurt out, “Will you let me be your husband?”

The question hangs in the air and then Gaby is smiling up at him and reaches up to press a gentle kiss to his mouth. 

“Yes, “she breaths, her lips a hairsbreadth from his own, “I will be your wife.”

And life is so much better than anything he could have dreamed.


End file.
